To understand the rest of this post, you need context.
So, let me begin at the beginning. I grew up in a very conservative home with very conservative parents and attended a very conservative religious university. As a child I was not allowed to watch The Simpsons---too crass, or Captain Planet---too environmentalist-wacko. My parents opted me out of sex ed in elementary school, but didn't teach me themselves. I remember asking my dad what "well-endowed" meant, watching him become very awkward and gesture with cupping hands at his chest. I was highly embarrassed and learned at that tender age to not ask my parents about anything even remotely sex-adjacent again.
This didn't stop me from reading Jean Auel's Earth's Children series (which includes rape and sex scenes) in middle school, or from trying to understand my body; I just had fewer resources and many, many roadblocks.
I didn't reach menarche until I was fifteen and a half---rather late for a child. My mom had explained the basics to me when I was ten years old with a Childcraft encyclopedia, but that explanation left far more questions than answers and I didn't know how to ask questions. By the time I was fifteen and a half, there was no discussion of menstruation in my house---there was hardly any discussion about anything, ever---so I was left to reading information on and in tampon boxes as an entrance to womanhood.
I will mention here that tampon boxes could do a better job explaining how to use their products. I was playing water polo when I reached menarche, and thus needed to use tampons so I could play during my period. The first time I used one, I left the cardboard applicator inside myself overnight because the directions were too vague. I eventually figured it out, but it took me awhile and would have been much better for me if I could have just asked someone.
One of the things that drew me to Jim, early on, was that Jim never seems to be embarrassed to ask a question when he doesn't know the answer. I really admire frankness in others, and I aspire that kind of open transparency in my own life. I feel that if my child is bold enough to ask a question, I can be brave enough to answer it honestly.
So, now that you have some background, let me take you to my first semester freshman year (at my very conservative universtiy) early morning Anatomy and Physiology lab class. The light is barely coming in through the basement windows; the walls are tiled, the room echo-y; it is cold, and everyone is half-awake; except for my TA who exudes alertness and enthusiasm. He strides confidently into the middle of the lab; everyone (mostly female nursing students) sits on stools circling him.
"This is a penis," he says, cupping his hand and holding up a brown chunk of cadaver soaked in formaldehyde.
So, let me begin at the beginning. I grew up in a very conservative home with very conservative parents and attended a very conservative religious university. As a child I was not allowed to watch The Simpsons---too crass, or Captain Planet---too environmentalist-wacko. My parents opted me out of sex ed in elementary school, but didn't teach me themselves. I remember asking my dad what "well-endowed" meant, watching him become very awkward and gesture with cupping hands at his chest. I was highly embarrassed and learned at that tender age to not ask my parents about anything even remotely sex-adjacent again.
This didn't stop me from reading Jean Auel's Earth's Children series (which includes rape and sex scenes) in middle school, or from trying to understand my body; I just had fewer resources and many, many roadblocks.
I didn't reach menarche until I was fifteen and a half---rather late for a child. My mom had explained the basics to me when I was ten years old with a Childcraft encyclopedia, but that explanation left far more questions than answers and I didn't know how to ask questions. By the time I was fifteen and a half, there was no discussion of menstruation in my house---there was hardly any discussion about anything, ever---so I was left to reading information on and in tampon boxes as an entrance to womanhood.
I will mention here that tampon boxes could do a better job explaining how to use their products. I was playing water polo when I reached menarche, and thus needed to use tampons so I could play during my period. The first time I used one, I left the cardboard applicator inside myself overnight because the directions were too vague. I eventually figured it out, but it took me awhile and would have been much better for me if I could have just asked someone.
One of the things that drew me to Jim, early on, was that Jim never seems to be embarrassed to ask a question when he doesn't know the answer. I really admire frankness in others, and I aspire that kind of open transparency in my own life. I feel that if my child is bold enough to ask a question, I can be brave enough to answer it honestly.
So, now that you have some background, let me take you to my first semester freshman year (at my very conservative universtiy) early morning Anatomy and Physiology lab class. The light is barely coming in through the basement windows; the walls are tiled, the room echo-y; it is cold, and everyone is half-awake; except for my TA who exudes alertness and enthusiasm. He strides confidently into the middle of the lab; everyone (mostly female nursing students) sits on stools circling him.
"This is a penis," he says, cupping his hand and holding up a brown chunk of cadaver soaked in formaldehyde.
"Repeat after me: penis."
"...penis..." my horrified/awe-struck classmates latently whisper. There are nervous isolated giggles. Remember, most of these people have not ever said "penis" out loud.
"Penis," he says louder.
"penis," we quietly repeat.
"I can't hear you," he cups his other hand, the one not containing shriveled cadaver junk, next to his ear and yells, "PENIS!"
"Penis," we say.
"Penis," he says louder.
"penis," we quietly repeat.
"I can't hear you," he cups his other hand, the one not containing shriveled cadaver junk, next to his ear and yells, "PENIS!"
"Penis," we say.
The TA repeats continues his call and repeat sequence until the whole class enthusiastically shouts names of various genitalia. For a crowd of extremely conservative co-eds, this was *radical*.
And I could not have loved it more.
And I could not have loved it more.
Anatomy & Physiology was my favorite class of my entire college experience. It's a bummer that I took it my very first semester because---honestly---nearly everything after that was a let-down (except for Women's Health Issues my senior year). It's been seventeen years since that class, and I still love to study anatomy. I love the body and how it is so absolutely weird and wonderful, and I have extremely few scruples when discussing bodies and various bodily functions.
This comes in handy in my day-to-day life.
One morning, Rae runs to me aghast and indignant, sputtering and fuming with too many feelings of injustice. It was rather early for so many feelings from such a small person. I barely had both eyes open.
"MOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMmmmmmmm," he wails.
"MOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMmmmmmmm," he wails.
I really was not awake enough for this.
Not waiting for a response, he launches into his complaint.
"YOU. HAD. ICE. CREAM. WITHOUT ME!"
At this point, I am rather baffled. One, my eyes are blinking, trying to lubricate themselves and get ready for sunshine; two, I feel like donating my uterus to science (again) because menstruation; and three, my brain can't register the words Rae is saying.
At this point, I am rather baffled. One, my eyes are blinking, trying to lubricate themselves and get ready for sunshine; two, I feel like donating my uterus to science (again) because menstruation; and three, my brain can't register the words Rae is saying.
"What ice cream?" I ask.
Rae rushes to the trash can, grabs the offending pint, and stomps back to me.
My brain fog is clearing, and I glimpse the pink container.
I can't help it---I laugh when I recognize the pint of not-ice-cream.
I explain that is a tampon box and because we have regular discussions about menstruation and bodies; Rae immediately grasps the situation and his anger deflates.
He and I would both rather have had ice cream.
~~~~~~
He and I would both rather have had ice cream.
~~~~~~
Recently, a friend recommended organic cotton tampons, so I tried them. Turns out, I like them a lot. If you have to stick something there, it might as well be organic. Everything else is.
Menstruation happens regularly (one would hope 🤞🤞). Jim, bless him, lacks any embarrassment picking up sanitary supplies for me when he goes shopping. Because the feminine hygiene aisle is dauntingly complex, Jim asks for specific instructions, which I appreciate.
Recently, the instructions have been:
-get [this brand],
-definitely do not under any circumstances get [that brand],
-and if [this brand] is unavailable, just find one that says organic cotton.
Jim is adept at following instructions. He came home with organic tampons that worked just fine. Yay.
-get [this brand],
-definitely do not under any circumstances get [that brand],
-and if [this brand] is unavailable, just find one that says organic cotton.
Jim is adept at following instructions. He came home with organic tampons that worked just fine. Yay.
Because I am still that person, I read the tampon box and all the pamphlet information---almost every time, and definitely when switching brands. I am not entirely sure why, but I haven't outgrown the habit. Perhaps I read it so I can remind myself of all the symptoms of Toxic Shock Syndrome.
However, TSS was not the most interesting part of this box.
This was:
However, TSS was not the most interesting part of this box.
This was:
So, of course I *had* to read it to Jim.
"Huh," he says, "...ghosts told me to stick herbs up there is their marketing strategy."
My humans-without-vaginas make me laugh.
"Huh," he says, "...ghosts told me to stick herbs up there is their marketing strategy."
My humans-without-vaginas make me laugh.
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